


from a mountaintop

by UnderneathAnotherTree (underneaththewalnuttree)



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, brief non-endgame Jeongmi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underneaththewalnuttree/pseuds/UnderneathAnotherTree
Summary: "Someday, you're going to love her."-Or, Nayeon can see the future, but not her own. Except once.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Myoui Mina
Comments: 77
Kudos: 975





	from a mountaintop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DGeorgi14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DGeorgi14/gifts).



_I saw you. You were looking at me._

-

Nayeon was twelve years old when she crossed paths with the only other person like her. One afternoon, she’d wandered off rebelliously from a corner of the park at which her father had left her, in protest for his withholding her cellphone privileges for the day, and had been intently picking apart leaves from a fallen branch, when an older woman about her mother’s age approached Nayeon, squatted down in front of her, and quietly asked her to touch her hand. 

And see, Nayeon had tried, until the tail-end of her primary school years, to tell friends and family members about what she experienced every time she touched someone for the first time. She’d tell newly-introduced classmates about it with an easy effervesce as natural to her personality as her extroversion; I saw you, but you were older, and you were driving a car by yourself, and how cool that you’re going to drive someday, don’t you think. It didn’t help matters much that none of her visions were particularly notable or helpful to her life or humanity in general—she never glimpsed lottery numbers or test answers or a vital event in human history or any part of her own future—so these early efforts to convince someone, anyone, to understand what she meant were completely fruitless. She wondered bitterly later how she made it all the way to fifth grade without figuring out that her visions were just mundane enough that no one believed her, and that every one of her foretellings had been dismissed as innocent attempts at attention-grabbing. 

But that’s what made the exchange at the park so odd. All these years, Nayeon had hoped someone would understand her, even if they didn’t share her experience. This woman, this strange, tired woman Nayeon had never seen before, was looking at Nayeon with world-weary eyes like she _knew_ her, knew what it had been like to hold secrets and be privy to things she’d rather not have known, knew it with pity and empathy like she’d looked back in an arduous trek and caught Nayeon following behind her. 

The automatic urge to obey an authority figure outweighed the strangeness of the request and all the other things that should have alarmed her back then had she been older. Compliantly, Nayeon reached out for the woman’s upturned palm. 

The salty moisture of the wind was what she felt first. What she saw first was the sun peeking out from over the horizon in bright flame-like stripes. Then, there was a cliff, splitting her vision fifty-fifty with open blue skies and the ocean; a cliff stretched not too far in front of her, its jagged end approaching faster and faster. The earth was rapidly, dizzyingly, diminishing under her feet in proportion to the sky: fifty-fifty became forty-sixty, then twenty-eighty, and then there was no cliff or ground at all, just a half-sobbed sigh of release and the gentle, welcomed embrace of gravity, flipping her body upside down and pulling her into plunge in the ocean. 

Nayeon blinked, mind back to her own but off-balance with lingering vertigo. The woman’s smile was strained and expectant.

“Was it a cliff? I’ve been thinking about a cliff.”

Nayeon’s answer stalled in her throat; the words seemed to have drowned in the vision, too.

Apparently, Nayeon’s disorientation was projected onto her otherwise blank expression, because the woman explained sympathetically, “I know what you see. I see it too. I overheard one of my neighbors, a teacher in your school, make a comment about a student of hers who was claiming she can see the future. I’ve been looking for you. I didn’t know anyone else could see these things.”

“There was a cliff,” Nayeon had confirmed brusquely, caught between wanting to know more and wishing the conversation wasn’t happening at all. “But then… there wasn’t.”

“What was I feeling?”

Nayeon couldn’t put into words what she’d felt, didn’t know if there _was_ a word for sorrow and resignation and hopelessness and relief, all mixed together. Hadn’t felt any of these emotions deeply enough until then to define them. 

“Um… sad.” By then, Nayeon’s father had noticed her absence, and was heading over impatiently. “What did you see when you touched me?”

“I’m not going to tell you what I saw,” she responded, chuckling through the last part of that when Nayeon gasped in indignation. That she could see everyone’s future except her own had always struck her as particularly annoying, and now there was someone who could fix that and refused to do it.

“That’s so unfair—I told you—”

Her quasi-tantrum cooled significantly when the woman laughed again, unfazed. “You’re going to accomplish something amazing. And I want to make sure it happens.” A flurry of questions were welling up inside her only to be trapped by her own hesitation and the impending interruption from her father, whose approach loomed from the treeline. “Don’t ever tell anyone their future—you’ll change it. If it’s already a bad thing, you’ll make it worse.” Nayeon’s father began to apologize to the woman from a yard away, excusing what he believed to be an instance of Nayeon’s pestering of adults. “You’ll be okay, just believe me on this.” The woman’s smile dimmed fainter at Mr. Im’s arrival, but still crinkled knowingly as she reassured, “so cheer up.”

Nayeon’s father apologized again, tried to introduce himself civilly to the woman as she began to withdraw from them. Extended his hand, but the woman didn’t take it.

-

It became even more of a secret after that, and one Nayeon goes to great lengths to conceal, the fact that she can see the future.

Well, the disclaimer is that by “see” she means she catches brief, three-second glimpses of the future through the eyes of whoever she’s touching for the first time. And by “future” she means… anything from five seconds ahead to fifty years, with no real pattern she can predict. 

An accidental bump into a man on the subway has her glimpsing his climb up the stairs of that same station, no more than a minute or two later. Fifteen-years-old and on her second day as a trainee at JYPE, she shakes hands with a senior trainee and watches the girl in front of her lovingly hug her _grandchild_ on what Nayeon guesses is a holiday celebration. 

She meets newcomer Son Chaeyoung two years later and an unintentional brush of their elbows speckles her entire line of sight with the glimmer of green lightsticks and deafens her with the roar of cheers from all sides of a stage as she peeks four silhouettes in front of her, two of them holding hands and singing to the crowd packing the venue. She’s barely returned to her own mind and immediately has to restrain every springing impulse from her muscles to keep from leaping into Chaeyoung’s arms with lingering secondhand elation and blurting out, you’re going to debut, I’m so happy for you, I saw it through your eyes, you were at a stadium, you had group members with you, you’re going to be so successful—

But she doesn’t. Because they’re all exhausting their bodies raw from training in hopes of achieving the same dream, and she can’t remember in recent memory being more terrified than she is now at the possibility she could do anything to disrupt Chaeyoung’s future.

When she’s seventeen and one of the more distinguished trainees, leading the trainees’ own bet pool on those most likely to debut, she brushes hands with one of the choreography crewmembers for JYPE’s boy groups, and is planted squarely inside a particular kind of nothingness; an asphyxiating, weightless existence that has neither shape nor color nor texture nor temperature and that reminds Nayeon of that half-second of suspended consciousness that precedes sleep. She’s seen dying but she’s never seen _death_ , and even when the day is over, even when the week is over, even when the month is over, she carries with her the leftover sensation of not existing like it’s been impressed across her skin; wonders if in a specific kind of lighting the marks will glow and expose her. 

Almost every glimpse she’s caught of the futures of people she’s met has been innocuous, Chaeyoung and older fellow foreseer aside—for crying out loud, she saw Sana eating dinner with her grandmother on her twenty-third birthday and saw an adult Jeongyeon holding her own child as they inaugurated an animal shelter bearing her name—so she’d been under the impression that nothing she could see would ever hurt her, but she was wrong, she was so, so wrong. 

She’s unable to sleep off the suffocating grip of that emptiness, or wash it off, work it off, drink it off. The aftershocks seem continuous and unending and she dedicates every waking hour to dance practice with Momo or vocal exercises with Jihyo in hopes that eventually she’ll be so distracted that her mind will overwrite the memory with something else. But she also starts to wonder, worriedly, if she’ll ever recover and return to the person she used to be, at least in time to engage in fan hi-touches if and when she debuts, without letting the trauma spill out from her poorly-sewn seams.

The next month, JYPE receives a new trainee. In the usual shuffle of schoolwork and training duties, Nayeon doesn’t meet her right away, but the usual rounds of trainee gossip bring her some tidbits of information—she’s Japanese, has a dance background and some intermediate fluency in Korean, is part of an affluent family in Osaka, and her name is Myoui Mina.

Still reeling from the occasional flashback to the death vision, Nayeon had been hoping no one new would arrive at JYPE; had entertained the odds, in fact, that she could go the rest of her life without ever meeting anyone else. Had quipped dryly, to herself, that she already knows enough people, anyway. It’s why she puts off formally meeting Mina for a long, long time, finding increasingly elaborate excuses not to be in the same room with her, and when her efforts fall short, trying her best to look much too busy to indulge the attention of any new trainee.

It’s all just delaying the inevitable, really. Mina, who’d probably heard that Nayeon’s demeanor could range from vaguely unapproachable to notoriously unwelcoming, nevertheless braves crossing JYPE’s mostly-empty cafeteria one day to nervously introduce herself and shyly ask for a selfie. Nayeon’s unemotional assessment of Mina takes all of two seconds—yes, she’s very pretty, has an accent, and wears her inexperience and vulnerability on her face, but grounds them in a quiet confidence that Nayeon appreciates—before she’s figuring that well, she might as well get this over with. From the looks of it, Mina seems to be on the more-likely-than-not end of the debuting odds scale despite being one of the newest trainees here, which means they might end up in the same group together. Nayeon’s work ethic is as famed as her self-possession and would never allow her to be a bad coworker. Besides, the chances of whatever she sees of Mina’s future being any worse than what she’s already seen are slim. 

She greets flatly, “yeah, nice to meet you; I’m Im Nayeon.”

As Nayeon swallows down her last bit of apprehension and shakes her hand, Mina, warm and friendly, offers some timid comment about—

Nayeon never catches it. 

She blinks once after the immediate contact, and the words reach her garbled and distant like they’re being shouted at her from underwater, even though the voice—it coils into distortion inside her mind, delivering other words instead. Before she’s opening her eyes, it’s the feelings she notices first. 

It’s chasing easily and freely and languidly through her bloodstream and the fabric of her muscles, a happiness and excitement that’s urgent and measureless and expanding fuller still. She’s felt this for so long, and now she’s finally gotten to _say_ it to the person in front of her, who means _everything_ to her—

—it’s disorienting like being tossed unmoored and with tattered sails into dark water in a star-less nighttime; it’s all-consuming and all-encompassing like being hemmed in on all sides; it’s the most unfamiliar sensation Nayeon’s ever felt in her entire life, and its sheer scope and breadth knocks the air from her lungs and rearranges organs and courses through every rivulet of her brain to drench her thoughts, and every single particle of her being is concentrated on this one person—

—she _loves_ the person in front of her, so much the vastness of it might break her apart inside, and she’s been trying for the whole past month to track its shape to see where it edges off, is straining her eyes and squinting but it’s like trying to see where the sky ends, and she loves her so much and is so happy with her that she _aches_ —

—this is the opposite of the red-raw pain of dying or the agonizing desolation of actual death and not being anyone; this is like being herself but _more_ , and this person in front of her, it all goes back to whoever she’s looking at—

The air is crisp and scented like just-washed linen, the ground is solid but pliant underneath her shoes, and Nayeon opens her eyes.

Nayeon is looking at herself. Nayeon is seeing herself through Mina’s eyes.

“I love you, too,” declares the Nayeon in front of her, backdropped by a mountaintop-like elevated scenic cityview, reaching for Mina’s hand, beam remarkably brilliant but softened by a comfortable sort of ease like this is the facial expression she’s always reserved for Mina; “I always have.” At this, a dizzying rush of delight floods out from Mina’s heart as a warming downpour to her ribcage and stomach—she’d been waiting to hear this, and hoping for it, and wanted it, every day for many, many days— “And I’m so glad we’re finally here.”

Nayeon is conscious that this is _Mina’s_ future, that these boundless feelings she’s been submerged in are _Mina’s_ , for the person in front of her—who happens to be Nayeon. That one day, someone will love her this much when she’s not even a particularly good person, when she’s just _Nayeon_ , is devastating in ways she can’t quantify or fully understand. But the part that sounds off a blaring, high-pitched alarm to echo in her mind is that even this Nayeon, her own future self, she can’t quite recognize. In all honesty, she’s _never_ been this bright-eyed or happy or sure of herself and her words. She knows her face well enough, but _this_ face belongs to someone she’s never seen before. This is the face of someone whose feelings match, exactly, what Mina feels, down to where they touch and coat every unnamed part of her.

Then, Nayeon is being yanked out of her skin almost violently, limbs and head and mind and heart fighting inertia as they’re dragged away from the mountaintop and back to the cafeteria.

She lands back into consciousness abruptly and almost doubles over and collapses. Some extraordinary strength keeps her muscles and bones bound together long enough to immediately snatch her hand back and tersely but politely excuse herself, leaving the frowning girl behind. In less than five seconds, she’s hurriedly pushed her way out of the cafeteria and into the grassy and sunlit area beside the JYPE building’s parking lot, bent over onto her knees, gasping in large gulps of air, staring down with horror at the hand that touched Mina’s as though expecting to see the pink beginnings of a burn. 

That happiness, so immense, so overwhelming, it buzzes under her skin still. Nayeon literally scratches at it for a second; remembers then that it wasn’t real and rubs at the skin over her neck and forearm afterwards to dull the sting. Those were not her feelings. None of that has happened. One day it _will_ happen—

She can’t think about it.

-

She theorizes that it’s probably because this was her first glimpse into a future that’s actually entwined with her own, why a strange brand of cowardice makes it so it takes her weeks to take apart and digest every part of what she saw and experienced. Eventually, she starts—because she doesn’t want to die a coward—tackling the easiest points first and working her way up.

1\. Her haircut looked different, her jaw and cheeks more defined, her makeup more subtle. It’s the future, yes, but not too far out—anything from three to five years, if she had to guess.

2\. She was wearing a jacket with a strange logo on it, a pink and white swirl on the breast pocket resembling a letter T or an I, along with what might have been a W with an extra arm. It looks nothing like any brand she’s ever seen; she scours every clothing manufacturer that comes up in Google search results but leaves the endeavor empty-handed.

3\. The mountaintop was overlooking a horizon made jagged by skyscrapers that she’s 99% sure are Seoul’s.

She’s been avoiding Mina like the plague—can’t even look at her, much less be near her or talk to her. And though Nayeon has observed nothing to indicate that Mina has noticed, everyone else apparently has; Jihyo asks her one day, with well-meaning concern, whether she’s not getting along with Myoui Mina, that new Japanese trainee. It feels like lying through her teeth when she responds that they just don’t know each other well. Yet. She makes a point then of routing the conversation somewhere else.

4\. Mina said it first, and meant every word like saying them was inevitable, like they’d long been overflowing from her chest and the effort to dam them up wasn’t worth it anymore. One day, she thinks again, one day someone will love Nayeon so much it’ll feel like the entire world’s been compressed into her heart, and that someone will be Myoui Mina. Who will tell her, and Nayeon will say it back, and mean it just as much.

She dreams about it every day. The dreams replay the vision and place her back into that blissful whirlpool of love and happiness; she wades and soaks in Mina’s feelings and forgets who she is outside of that love and that moment. Wakes up languid with a calm and contentment that she forces herself to snap out of, and doesn’t know which part of this is sadder—the fact that her body and mind wholeheartedly enjoy the lingering after-effects of these dreams, or that it’s a relief to have something wrench her out of that grief-filled pit she’d been in before, or that she’s finally found out what it’s like to be completely in love with someone, but through a vision of someone’s future.

5\. The feelings, they’d been there for a while, hadn’t they? They’d loved each other for a long time. The act of externalizing the words felt unprecedented and a little like Mina was exposing all of her internal organs, but the feelings themselves didn’t feel new; they felt lived-in and memory-warmed. It felt like they’d built their history together.

It takes weeks, and by the time Nayeon thinks she’s more or less come to terms with the fact that the vision actually happened and wasn’t a nightmare or a very realistic hallucination, they’re all thrown into a Hunger Games-style trainee gauntlet competition and pitted against one another to achieve the dream they’d all shared and sacrificed and hurt and cried over.

-

The less said about _Sixteen_ , the better.

-

Once they’re in Twice, Nayeon pieces together at least two of her observations. That logo on her jacket—it’s their group logo. And her earlier vision of Chaeyoung’s future was foreseeing one of their concerts. It’s a nice reminder that despite her worst moments of uncertainty and second-guessing her sanity, she’s not actually deranged. The things she sees actually do happen. 

The whirlwind of promotions and schedules thankfully doesn’t leave a lot of time for Nayeon to dwell on her vision of Mina’s future. Everyone uses the debut as an opportunity to leave behind all the unfortunate events of _Sixteen_ and start over, bonds of friendship and camaraderie strengthened anew by everything they’d endured getting here, and by the shared optimism for what’s to come. Nayeon takes the same opportunity to befriend Mina, who never mentions their incident in the cafeteria and seems relieved to start over with her, too. 

For a while, that’s enough. It’s easy to draw herself nearer to Mina—all nine of them are very close and only getting closer, and Mina is endearingly shy and reluctant to express herself; her sense of humor skews decidedly nerdy and she thinks a lot, about everything, and tends to play games and get into activities that allow her to fidget with her hands because her mind never turns off. 

For a while, all Nayeon does, and only occasionally, is a sort of double-take when they’re on any small break from rehearsals and schedules, and her gaze happens to land on Mina, who’s usually partway through a pre-nap with Sana or Jihyo, or watching something on her phone with Chaeyoung and Tzuyu.

When she looks at Mina, really looks, her entire body and half of her mind tell her, this is the person. This person will love you, this person will know you and all the things you should change to be a better person, and will still think you’re perfect. The other half, however, reminds her just as readily that this is _Mina_ she’s talking about—games on her phone and Marvel superhero references no one else gets and soft voice and sensitive and easily flustered—and it doesn’t seem like these two Minas ever meet in the middle. Meanwhile, Nayeon’s own personality swings between self-effacing sarcasm on one end, and the seductive wink emoji and cocky statements that she’s a blessing to everyone’s eyes on the other end. 

She’d be lying if she said she’s figured out how the hell she and Mina are going to get from here and now, to that mountaintop, and would be lying further if she didn’t admit that she wonders who’ll start liking whom first.

For a while, Nayeon is fine with it, overall. 

Then, they’re in the studio hearing the melody for what will eventually be their second comeback. It’s peppier than _Like Ooh-Aah_ and perhaps the catchiest tune Nayeon has ever heard. Before she’s quite read through the lyrics page, their music director is humming the refrain along with the words, and announces the title. Nayeon hears it and stills in her chair immediately, a cold pang of realization working its way inside her. 

Later—much later, when a heavy, damp fog has settled over Seoul; later, when she’s alone and the darkness will absorb every noise; later, when Nayeon has crumbled into the ground, the memory, her own memory, wraps itself around her mind of the only other person who ever knew what her life had been and how it would go, curving her lips reassuringly around a shallow smile before telling her to cheer up, before being swallowed into the sky.

-

Even while Twice is reaching unexpected and historic levels of success, Nayeon re-falls into that old pit, at least temporarily. The grief has been replaced by alternating waves of self-loathing and self-pity, though, which might be actually be worse.

Nevertheless, she hides it really, really well. They have so much to be grateful for and love their fans so much that it’d be hard to imagine any of them experiencing any worrisome bouts of sadness. Adding that to her well-rehearsed nonchalance and emotional fortitude means all the members see is Nayeon beginning each of their meetings with a sanguine, “as the voice of wisdom in this gathering—” before she’s booed off her metaphorical podium, or preambling her advice to the younger members with a sage, “as the most mature and beautiful person here,” proceeding to be summarily silenced by loud scoffs or outright laughter.

She hides it so well she almost forgets the depth of her own anguish. She makes it a whole other energy-drained year of unending schedules and relentless promotions for _TT_ , _Knock Knock_ , _Signal_ , and _Likey_ ; a whole year of helplessness and frustration at being the oldest member and Jihyo’s right-hand and yet being unable to ease everyone’s exhaustion and impending burnout—a whole year, before she wakes up on one of their now exceedingly rare days off, with early morning piercing through the window, and the wear of hours of dancing grinding her joints, and an overwhelming urge to find a cliff of her own.

The nearest bed is Mina’s—that’s the one she slides into, automatically. They’ve all slept in each other’s beds so this isn’t particularly noteworthy, but today it is, because perhaps this is the last bed she should have chosen. Her subsequent dream, as expected, ends up being a replay of her vision of Mina’s future, and it should alarm her how little the images and sequence of events fade in her memory, even after all this time. Just being able to count on this constancy, though, relaxes her—remembering this will always patch over her frayed emotions, will always attach the colors back to the world when it’s desaturated. When she wakes with their alarm, the lingering sensation of holding Mina’s hand is a ghost skimming her skin. Her eyes are bleary and slow to focus as they take Mina in, whose voice is threaded through with sleepiness and surprise when she mumbles teasingly, “were you having a hard time sleeping?”

And well, Nayeon tends towards self-deprecation anyway and isn’t particularly sensitive to embarrassment, but she still mock-defends, “obviously this was for you, so _you’d_ sleep better. Here I am trying to be a good unnie, trying to be considerate of your needs—”

Mina laughs raspily; an odd exhilaration blooms in Nayeon’s chest. “Yes, of course; the snoring was actually very soothing—”

Someday, the thought begins, you’re going to love her.

Nayeon narrowly keeps herself from vaulting off the bed.

Instead, she replies wryly, “well, since all I’m getting for my services is _ungratefulness_ ,” and at this, Mina laughs again, turning her face bashfully into the pillow, and the sight and sound occupy Nayeon’s brain almost to the point of excluding the entirety of the world around them, “me and my lovely, quiet breathing are going back to my own bed.”

-

It becomes a thing. In her worst moments of insecurity and self-doubt, when the gaps between her ribs feel filled with sharp edges, she wills the mountaintop memory into sparking off in her mind—someday, someone will love her, someone will be sure of her even when she isn’t. Bafflingly, here, too, it always works; it comforts her and balms over these little spikes of misery quicker and more effectively than anything else. So many unhealthy coping mechanisms were there for her to fall into; she’s so glad to have fallen into this one instead.

In those rare moments when Nayeon spots Mina’s own anxieties peeking out from behind her usual impassiveness, the urge is almost insurmountably strong to provide Mina the same reassurance and tell her the same thing; someday, someone will love _you_.

She’d wondered before who would get to the mountaintop first and who would have to catch up. She wonders now, idly, what if she gets there first? 

-

Mina is a great friend. They all are, in different ways, but while for an example, Momo’s way is cooking everyone’s favorite meals or finding a dog for them to pet and Sana’s way is to give the world’s best hugs and Chaeyoung’s is to craft the most touching homemade gifts, Mina’s way is to knit them things when it’s cold and patiently be the group’s official Japanese language reference. Right around the time Mina starts teaching Nayeon Japanese, Nayeon realizes something.

Verb tenses are irritating her and she’s using her scrappy cumulative knowledge to tell Mina, “this sucks; my Japanese is a garbage fire,” instead of, “may I please have some tea,” when it strikes her that she didn’t actually hear Mina tell her she loved her. She felt what Mina felt and watched herself say it back to her, but she never heard the actual words from Mina. There were two sides to that moment and she only got to see one—the one that wasn’t hers.

“You conjugated ‘sucks’ wrong and that’s not the right word for ‘garbage’ if you’re using it with ‘fire’ but that’s not the point—”

It tips her a little bit off-balance to think that she doesn’t know what it will sound like. Her own words, she’s heard them on loop countless times by now, and had to get used to the idea that they’re already tucked behind her tongue, waiting to go to Mina when the time comes.

“‘My Japanese is a _pile_ of garbage,’” she tries again, cocking one of her eyebrows charmingly—Mina, blushing, rolls her eyes at the attempt and pointedly corrects, “that’s still not the right word for ‘garbage’—”

Someday, she will hear the words.

-

Sometimes, mid-way through an activity, the memory of them together floats up unprompted from far regions of her brain, like a really persistent, really distracting daydream. It’s probably mimicking Mina herself, who always flits in and out of Nayeon’s line of sight, everpresent.

Even when Mina is not physically with her, she might as well be. Nayeon and Jeongyeon get a call from her, Momo, and Sana, who are on holiday in Japan—Mina is watching her companions with fond amusement while said companions are embroiled in a lively argument over whose fault it was that they almost missed their flight, and Jeongyeon is telling Momo to please, please not bring back any more stuffed animals to their already “almost hoarder-level” room. For their part, Nayeon’s eyes choose to follow a breeze lifting and swaying a strand of Mina’s hair. Wasn’t the mountaintop a little windy?

They’re countries and oceans away. Mina is right in front of her, holding her hand.

She looks down, to her side, and finds that she’s been unknowingly clenching her right fist, like she’d been subconsciously expecting a hand to be in there. It feels warm, too, like she’d been clutching a palmful of sunlight.

When they all return, Mina hugs her with bouncing enthusiasm and gifts her a pocketbook of Japanese phrases.

“Now you can learn the right word for garbage.”

The warmth of Mina’s touch, now real and not fantasized, spreads all over in a pleasant pins-and-needles tingling. Weak-kneed suddenly, Nayeon remembers the mountaintop and thinks of how she might have already started trekking up, and it’s nowhere near as steep a climb as she had imagined. 

-

_I saw you. I was yours._

-

In a group of nine people, the bet had always been there that at least two of them would get romantically involved with each other. 

The two turn out to be Jeongyeon and Mina.

-

Nayeon doesn’t want to think about it.

-

When Nayeon does think about it, she’s grateful she never told Mina that someone would love her, because what a stupid statement that would have been—of course someone would. And that someone would be Jeongyeon.

Somehow, the whole turn of events might be one of the most miserable experiences Nayeon has ever endured in her life—feels (pathetically, really) like a break-up, though it’s worse than any break-up Nayeon has ever actually gone through. But if pressed, she can’t even explain why. 

The most reasonable interpretation that she can give herself is that she’s seen and remembered and relived her vision of a future with Mina so many times over the past three years that every part of her mind and body just sort of started thinking of Mina as hers. All this time, Nayeon’s been unaware of this and now reality is shocking to her, that Mina would love someone who isn’t her. It’s absurd to feel as though she’s been violently uprooted when she’s the one who let her roots find a place for themselves that didn’t even exist yet. Now she’s battling the disorienting fallout, in feeling like she’ll always be running and running and her feet will never tread firm ground again.

To their credit and exactly as anyone would have expected, Jeongyeon and Mina are extremely discreet; so subtle in their everyday interaction that it’s easy to overlook the instances of closeness that give them away. They never really talk to the others about themselves because Mina gets mortified at the mere mention of their relationship and everyone else makes exaggerated gagging sounds whenever they merely stand next to each other, so there’s no real change to the group’s dynamics. Once, though, Jeongyeon talks to Nayeon about it to explain—unnecessarily, an agonized Nayeon mentally notes—why it took so long for them to tell everyone. Nodding and reassuring Jeongyeon through her speech is one of the more excruciating periods of time Nayeon has ever lived through.

Warring urges cloud her thoughts and make it unbearable for her to be in Mina’s company for practically any length of time, because some awful, reckless part of her wants to blurt out, you’re going to love me; I saw you, you were looking at me, I was yours. Another recoils from the idea completely, because if she tells Mina any part of what she saw, she’ll change a future that she really, really wants to happen. And then another, quieter and sadder, wonders how selfish it is of her to _want_ that future, and if perhaps she _should_ change it, if it’ll mean Jeongyeon and Mina, who obviously like each other so much, will stay together. 

One stupid idea. She allows herself one stupid idea, and it takes the shape of a boy from another group. It’s so stupid it almost backtracks and undoes all the _smart_ ideas she’s ever had, though at the time it seems a fitting, harmless way to celebrate the end of their dating ban. Frankly, it’s not even a good experience, because while she’s so intent in forcing herself to be okay with the Jeongyeon and Mina situation and okay with how little the current circumstances of her life line up with what she’d inadvertently been hoping and dreaming for herself, it takes the boy admitting once, wholeheartedly in a tragic way, how much he likes her, for her to snap out of it and realize that those 3 seconds she glimpsed of Mina’s future just about ruined her for everyone else. Whatever this boy feels for her is not what Mina will feel, not even close; Nayeon is on that mountaintop already, waiting for one specific person to catch up, and this is not that person.

-

Celebrating the success of their last concert in a privately-reserved restaurant with a bountiful supply of alcohol, everyone is somewhere between buzzed and actually drunk, playing a sort of roulette-like game of first impressions. And when it’s Mina’s turn, her spun chopstick ends up pointing to Nayeon, and she reveals with a chuckle that when they met, she honestly believed Nayeon hated her. Everyone laughs, offering variations of “oh, yeah, I heard that, too,” (Dahyun) and “Nayeon had resting bitch face; she looked like she hated everybody” (Sana), to which Nayeon responds with an undignified huff of outrage.

“This is defamation and I’ll see you all in court—”

“I introduced myself in the cafeteria, remember?” Mina clarifies, slurring but also inquisitive and undeterred. “You kind of ran away from me.”

That they would someday have this conversation isn’t something Nayeon completely dismissed. But that it would be here, right now, surrounded by their friends, in a moment where inebriation has her sinking deeper and deeper into memories she shouldn’t be remembering—that, she hadn’t really considered.

Drunkenness is peeling off all her layers of defense, and if they were anywhere else in the world, Nayeon would be weakened enough to admit what really happened that day, secret be damned, and would add everything else that her body says and her heart shouts every time she’s near Mina: how snugly Mina fits inside her thoughts, like she was made to live in her mind; how the memory of her own face, bathed in love for her, made it so hard for Nayeon to look at herself in the mirror afterwards; how quiet, constant, and all-consuming her feelings for her are; how much Nayeon wishes sometimes she could surgically remove her heart.

But she has one last defense that even the alcohol doesn’t tear down. She can’t wait, really, for Mina to meet her up on that mountain. She’ll wait for as long as it takes.

A small tendril of strength keeps her outwardly cavalier. “That’s an exaggeration—I mean, when would I ever voluntarily run anywhere, let’s be honest—”

“Yeah, the senior citizen bones wouldn’t have let her—”

“Son Chaeyoung, my senior citizen foot can still kick you—”

-

Their next comeback is a bone-crushing blur. After thirty hours without sleep one such day, Nayeon collapses into her bed and wakes up six hours later facing Mina in hers. Her field of vision is all moles and tired, pink-cheeked smile.

“You haven’t done this in a while,” Mina mumbles.

You’re someone’s girlfriend and that someone is my friend, too, she almost replies drowsily. What actually comes out is a wry, fatigued half-whisper; “you haven’t needed my snoring to soothe you into sleep.”

Sleep, in fact, is almost dragging her under again; Nayeon welcomes it, knowing what she’ll be dreaming about, looking forward to reliving more vividly something that seems like it’ll only ever be just that—a dream.

The dream is reaching her, grabbing at her stickily from the edges of her senses. Nayeon thinks she’s been submerged already, and dream-Mina is asking her, “why don’t you like hi-touches?”

I see their future… everyone’s future… when I touch them for the first time. It’s tiring.

“What?”

Nayeon blinks. In a tension-strained millisecond, has taken in Mina’s bed, Mina’s blanket, Mina’s warmth, Mina’s corner of the room, Mina’s puzzlement.

Shit.

“You see the future?”

Shit, shit, shit.

A white-hot flood of panic startles and paralyzes her. Energy that she didn’t know she still had left surfaces from the remotest reserves in her body and she instantly makes to launch off the bed, but Mina’s hand, wrapped around her wrist, extinguishes the surge of action.

“No, wait; please stay.”

“It’s not—seriously, I can’t—this isn’t something I can talk about—you won’t believe me—”

“I’ll believe you.” Mina’s straightforward candor cuts through a deluge of horrible memories of schoolyard mocking by her peers and dismissive gestures from adults and gaining and losing, in a bare 2-minute span of time, the one stranger who understood her. “I already believe you.”

Silence hangs heavy in the inch-wide space between them.

“How does it happen?”

This secret... it’d be sad, wouldn’t it, to go through another 23 years always hiding, without ever letting anyone else see this whole piece of herself that’s made her who she is as much as all her other traits.

Also, she can’t die a coward. 

“Um… I just touch people and I see some part of their future, for just a few seconds—two or three. I can’t… pick what I’m going to see. Or choose not to see it.”

Her entire body is thrumming with nervousness, expecting, dreading, already bracing itself for the inevitable hurt from an incredulous laugh or that old questioning look she used to get when people were wondering if she had some unheard-of mental illness.

But Mina just watches her for a moment, apparently deep in thought, showing no visible traces of anything resembling disbelief.

“Give me an example, from someone we know.”

“You can’t tell anyone—”

“I won’t.”

She can’t die a coward.

Sana sleeps the next bed over so Nayeon blurts out, “on her twenty-third birthday, Sana is going to eat some kind of yellow cake with her grandmother. I know it was her twenty-third because I saw the candles.”

The slowest beginnings of a smile start to emerge from the corners of Mina’s mouth.

“Tell me another.”

“Jihyo is going to be a really famous judge on a singing show when she’s… I think in her early-thirties. There was a sign with the date but the last number was cut off, so all I saw was ‘203.’”

Mina’s bubbling excitement infects Nayeon and she ends up telling her about Momo and Dahyun and then Chaeyoung—and that one makes her extra-impressed (“it came true already!”) so Nayeon bursts into laughter when the softness of her voice gives way to a genuine squeal.

“What about me?”

That secondhand excitement evaporates in a fraction of a second; Nayeon stills with immediate apprehension and shock at her own carelessness and lack of foresight—of course Mina would ask this; how the hell did she not anticipate this. 

Mina notices, because of course she would, and Nayeon rushes to cover up her own reaction, telling her with forced enthusiasm, “um, it was great; you were really, really happy with someone.”

Even though that was not a lie, the attempt still feels like it, and a pathetic one at that.

Eyebrows scrunched in confusion, Mina looks more taken aback by Nayeon’s demeanor than what she’s actually said—this is already bad and Nayeon’s efforts at defusing this aren’t working. “Who was I with?”

“Ah. Um, I couldn’t… say.”

“Was it Jeon—” Mina cuts herself off, eyes brighter now than they had been before—scrutinizing Nayeon's expression so intently it’d have been hard for her to maintain eye contact if Mina’s gaze wasn’t pinning her own in place—memory presumably drawn back to her first encounter with a terror-struck Nayeon in the JYP cafeteria. “Was it… you?”

If Nayeon were to try to talk now, with no attempt at composing her shattered nerves, her voice probably would waver and disintegrate mid-air, made frail by the same rattle her breath takes on when she’s winded. So she waits a bit, and the vast landscape of their memories together emerges behind Mina, framing her worry and earnest curiosity.

Nayeon could change things. She could tell the truth, and change the future. Would that, in turn, change her feelings? Would it un-etch Mina’s name from her bones?

It occurs to her as a fleeting musing that when she first had that vision, what she felt from Mina seemed much too exaggerated and outlandish and unreasonable—she couldn’t fathom how someone’s feelings for another person could ever grow that enormous and still be genuine; had distrusted it, looked it over with the kind of suspicion she reserves for online hoaxes and miraculous products. Now, her own feelings are just as enormous, just as solid, just as steadfast. The longer she lives with them, the more the vision makes sense.

And she can’t die a coward.

“No. It wasn’t with me.”

A fear simmers disquietly that Mina will press on and Nayeon’s tenuous hold on this lie will unravel and dissolve, but fortunately that scenario doesn’t take place. Mina does hesitate for the briefest of seconds, seemingly assessing the contours of Nayeon’s sincerity.

Then, “you know, there’s this game I used to play where you could go to this village and there was an old seer who could tell you the future and give you things for your inventory—”

“Oh, God—I can literally _feel_ myself becoming less cool as I listen to you telling me about this game—”

“—and tell you about quests you haven’t done yet—I’m going to ignore that comment—” 

-

Two days later, she and Jeongyeon calmly inform the rest of the members of their mutual decision to break up. It’s the strangest break-up Nayeon’s ever witnessed: even more than before, they have these long, seemingly open-hearted conversations off to side to which no one is privy, but everyone guesses are just an instance of their friendship having remained so firm-footed that they’re literally helping each other through their own separation.

At 3-something in the morning a week after that, a lethargic and only half-functioning Nayeon lumbers from her room to the kitchen for water, and jolts when she stumbles upon Jeongyeon and Mina, deep in a murmured discussion that stops instantly the moment they notice her.

It’s a weird moment that settles an unease under her skin, watching Jeongyeon watch Mina, as Mina watches her. Some dormant sixth sense hints at her that she may have been the topic of this conversation—she forgets that thought completely, though, when Jeongyeon clears her throat and quips, “you know, they say that as you reach the elder years, you wake up more and sleep less—”

Which prompts Nayeon to interrupt with a scoff, “you’re literally only a year younger than me—we’ll be, like, right beside each other at the line in the retirement home.” Mina is grinning at her response, and Nayeon feels everything at once, a shiver and a flutter and a tremor—has to look away, back to Jeongyeon, and force out in her best imitation of self-satisfied, “because I’m in the _prime of my youth_ , I’m going back to sleep.” 

Two days after that, on their way out of a vocal recording session, Nayeon is sliding into a van with Jeongyeon immediately behind her, hears Jeongyeon grunt out off-handedly, “you know, I had meant to tell you; I think Mina likes someone else—it’s one of the reasons we didn’t work out,” and then narrowly avoids slipping and crashing face-first onto the floorboard.

There’s no right reaction to this—presumably, being knocked breathless by a wave of panicky nausea is not it. Not that she even believes this, though; Jeongyeon is so laid-back and easygoing that it’s hard, sometimes, to tell just how certain she is of her own statements. And right now, she’s just mentioned this with all the matter-of-fact attitude of someone updating her on how heavy the rush-hour traffic has been in Seoul.

The van drives off, and the longer Nayeon lets time pass without acknowledging Jeongyeon’s comment, the more she feels as though she’s holding a lit match between her fingers as the flame chases through wood to burn her skin.

“Um.” This fear that encases her body, she’s trying to shrug it off her shoulders but it’s _so_ difficult—feels impossible, actually. She’s going to die a coward, she truly will. “Would you… uh, how would you feel if…” She’s forgotten Korean, apparently—her own mother language, gone. Eloquence? Bare linguistic skill? Nayeon doesn’t know them— “What if Mina ends up… um, what if there’s a possibility—”

Throughout this ordeal, Jeongyeon’s initial wince at her stuttering has been deepening progressively into a cringe of secondhand embarrassment; in an apparent show of mercy, she interjects, “what if she dates someone I know? I think that’d be great.” The flickering pit-pat of Nayeon’s terrified heartbeat slows down; her lungs begin to fill themselves up again; she takes several steps back from a spontaneous heart attack. “We’re still friends, and we want each other’s happiness. I’d be happy for her. And if it’s someone I know, then she’d at least be with someone we all approve of already, right?”

-

_I saw you. You were mine._

-

True to her word, Mina’s told nary a soul about Nayeon’s secret. Sometimes, she indulges her ongoing curiosity—when they’re alone after practice in one of the JYPE dance rooms, she asks, “that new songwriter we met today, what did you see?”

“He was eating a gelato in front of that really famous fountain in Italy; his body felt older, so I think he was maybe in his 50s?”

Low-voiced late at night in the empty kitchen, she asks, “what’s the weirdest future you’ve seen?”

“This stage assistant I bumped into at the AMA last year was parachuting off a plane and I had to feel myself falling all the way down—no, thank you; never the fuck again.”

Lingering behind everyone else after a beach photoshoot—staged in early spring to be ready for a summer release—their slow steps sink in soft, dampened sand, and in the last couple of moments of sunlight, she asks, “what’s the best future you’ve seen?”

Nayeon shrugs; replies with easy honesty, “most of them are good; there have only been a few bad ones.”

“But which one did you like the most?”

This question has one answer, that she can’t say, not yet.

Ours, her heart whispers, but her voice echoes instead, “the one I liked the most?” She feigns deep thought; picks the second-best, because that’s close enough to the truth. “Chae’s… it was nice to feel what it was going to be like, singing to our fans, before I actually got to do it.”

-

Variety shows generally distribute Twice into positions on a spectrum, where one end holds the mostly quiet, soft-mannered ones (Tzuyu, Mina); the other end holds the crackheads (Nayeon, Sana); and everyone else falls somewhere in the middle, tending towards one end or the other depending on the day.

Today, in one such show filmed in an elaborate stage set inside a major television studio lot, a randomly-picked dare prompt has her pitted in a dance-off against _Momo_ , of all people, which is when Nayeon wisecracks dryly, “God really does give his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.” 

Jihyo remarks helpfully to the host, “you always need someone immune to embarrassment to go up against Momo in anything dance-related,” and Dahyun _unhelpfully_ adds, “so it really is Nayeon unnie’s time to shine.” 

Nayeon’s drawled out, “Dahyun, you and I are going to have some words about this later,” does absolutely nothing to quell everyone’s concurring laughter.

After losing the dance-off to Momo—seriously, what an unfair match—Nayeon is the one everyone uses their oversized foam fingers to point to when the host queries brightly in the next segment, “who has accidentally kissed the most members?”

“Wait—me?” Nayeon protests instantly, practically jumping to her feet; “you’re all pointing to me when Sana exists?”

Laughter and shouted out commentary all merge together, but Sana’s voice stands out, “I’ve tried but _you’ve_ kissed more members for real; stop being in denial!”

After the initial kerfuffle, during which Nayeon still maintains unbudgingly that the answer _is_ Sana, and yes, Nayeon will die on this hill, the host has her stand and face the other members, all seated in a row of stools, and informs her that as the price for losing the dance-off, she has to recreate one of these accidental kisses. 

That’s surprisingly uncomplicated, really—she thinks of that one time they were in a beauty product photoshoot and her face was exactly an inch from Jihyo’s and then her elbow slipped on the table and she fell forward—

“And the other members can pick which one you will recreate.”

Before the sentence is even finished, every foam finger is pointing to Mina, except for Mina’s—which she hasn’t even had time to lift from her lap and point anywhere.

There are lots of guilty, conspiratorial, sideways glances being thrown around between the members—and that there seems to be some kind of consensus should simultaneously piss off and alarm her—though Mina herself still looks completely taken aback by her selection. 

“They’re talking about this time we were filming an _Ask in a Box_ episode two years ago,” Nayeon concedes, projecting indifference while mentally assessing just how long she can delay having to recreate that kiss, wondering with slow-brewing panic why something inside her gut is nudging at her that this is a really bad idea. “A fan asked Mina if she had received kisses for her birthday, and I remembered I hadn’t given her one.”

See, it’s never been hard to be affectionate with anyone from Twice—not even with Mina, whose proximity would sometimes cause excerpts of the vision to flash, uninvited, inside her mind. The self-possessed, bratty and flirtatious charm is very much a part of Nayeon’s public persona, and a natural extension of how she is in private. She thinks now of the [many instances](https://www.instagram.com/p/BzA_N50FhI9/?igshid=16t1uz4dptm9g) over the years in which she and Mina inhabited that dynamic with no discomfort, because they _are_ friends, and they _are_ close. Nayeon’s jokingly given Mina her last name, openly blown Mina kisses to distract her mid-speech, has volunteered to be Mina’s prince when she was compared to a princess, called herself Iron Man when Mina stated she wanted to be Iron Man’s girlfriend—recreating a kiss that has already happened shouldn’t be hard. So why… 

“So I went over to her, and I was just going to kiss her cheek,” Nayeon begins, making her way to Mina’s stool and registering that that slow-brewing panic is actually near boiling over now that she notices it, and for no reason she can pin down. Mina, for her part, is… absolutely still, eyes following her approach with brows curved slightly by a miniscule worried frown, presumably not looking forward to reliving an experience that she likely didn’t enjoy even the first time around. “But Mina turned her head, because she thought I was going to kiss the other cheek.” Nayeon’s outward nonchalance has successfully prevented anyone from noticing the ton-heavy reluctance that’s been weighing down and slowing her footsteps, but now that she’s reached Mina, it gets exponentially more difficult to hide the fraying corners of her forced smile. Between Mina’s doubtful gaze and Nayeon’s fingertips settling nervously on the blanket atop Mina’s lap, the entire architecture of their friendship lays unveiled in front of her. Her heart, it’s pounding so, so loudly, on the one occasion it should be quiet.

This is nothing, it should be nothing. They’ve done this before.

“So, um… left cheek, right? I'll aim better this time.”

It’s the same. It is. 

It’s exactly the same, but also vastly different.

It dwarfs description, how dramatically something shifts between them in only a single second, clicking into place six years’ worth of late nights and early mornings.

Nayeon is so grateful and humbled and rewarded by everything they’ve achieved as a group and the endless support they’ve received from fans, but so much in her life has also been hard—training for this career, coming into this career, spending every waking moment of her adult life working herself bruised and aching in this career, teaching herself over and over how to survive on four hours of sleep and how to go months without seeing her family, keeping secrets and burying and re-burying the bad memories and the bad visions to maintain some hold, however frail, on her optimism, loving a girl so, so much, for years and years, and never doing anything about it precisely because she loves her—so much has been so difficult, and locking down her muscles in this moment to keep from running away after she pulls away from a wide-eyed, blanched Mina, is something she can now add to that list.

-

Nayeon does try to run away afterwards, declining to join everyone else in the dorm-bound vans under the guise of needing to pick up something from the JYPE building. To the driver of the separate vehicle that’s ready to take her, she plucks out from her restlessness another lie—that her favorite drama is filmed here and she’ll just take a quick peek at its set and will be right back—because the truth is that there’s a desperate fear gnawing at her from the inside that she’ll never be able to look Mina in the eye again, and she just needs a little time, a short walk maybe, to regain control of her body.

She’s three steps into a hallway lined with doors to various filming sets, when she feels a hand, tentative, land on her shoulder. The problem is, has always been, that she’d know this touch anywhere, no matter where they are or how long it’s been since they’ve been near, Nayeon would always recognize it. Nevertheless, she turns, to look Mina in the eye and confirm it—she can’t die a coward. And that same girl she loves and loves and can’t stop loving, draws her hand back and asks quietly but intently, “have you ever lied to me?”

Nayeon blinks, caught off-guard. 

Before she can respond, a studio staffer walks by and, on reflex, Nayeon pulls them inside one of the film sets for privacy, finding it thankfully vacant.

Still baffled by the question, Nayeon counters, “you’re asking me if I’ve lied to you?” 

Mina’s initial purposeful tone turns apologetic; she amends awkwardly, “I’m sorry; I’m not calling you a liar. It’s just that…”

A barely-there wind meanders by unexpectedly, tearing Nayeon’s gaze from Mina to an oscillating fan nearby. And that’s when Nayeon notices, for the first time, their surroundings. 

“You said that when you saw my future, you saw me really happy with someone.”

Behind Mina, there are multiple types of unused filmmaking machinery and props and foldable chairs, all piled up; tables for catering, extra costumes and wigs, vanities for make-up and stands for scripts.

“I asked you who was with me—who I was with that I was so happy, and you told me it wasn’t you.”

Behind Nayeon, though, is the actual set. A scenic view of Seoul’s skyline painted onto a wooden wall on rollers, several feet tall, made to look, for a camera, as though the view is from somewhere outdoors and very elevated. 

Like a mountain.

“And I think you lied to me.” Nayeon’s eyes snap to Mina—face ashen, when it’s always halfway to a shy blush; body rigid and, paradoxically, also agitated, when it’s always nimble and stable. It occurs to her, distantly, that this is what Mina looks like when she’s conjuring confidence in her moments of self-doubt, when she’s pushing herself to be brave. “I think you lied, because I think that would be impossible, for it not to have been you—the person I was with.”

There were always two sides to this, and Nayeon only knew one: the one that wasn’t hers. And now, as she relives that vision of Mina’s future all over again, she gets to experience her own side—

All this time, Mina has been the ground and the sky of all her daydreams.

“And I’m saying this, because… I love you.” 

(It’s chasing easily and freely and languidly through her bloodstream and the fabric of her muscles, a happiness and excitement that’s urgent and measureless and expanding fuller still. She’s felt this for so long, and now she’s finally gotten to _say_ it to the person in front of her, who means _everything_ to her—)

All this time, she’s tugged Mina into the corner of all her smiles; she’s heard her voice in between all her heartbeats.

“And I don’t think I’d be that happy, the way you said I would be, if it wasn’t with you.”

(—she _loves_ the person in front of her, so much the vastness of it might break her apart inside, and she’s been trying for the whole past month to track its shape to see where it edges off, is straining her eyes and squinting but it’s like trying to see where the sky ends, and she loves her so much and is so happy with her that she _aches_ —)

Nayeon swings her hand forward; takes Mina’s. She saw her own face through Mina’s eyes and knows she’s never been this bright-eyed or sure of herself or her words; knows that her feelings match, exactly, what Mina feels, down to where they touch and coat every unnamed part of her.

“I love you, too. I always have.”

(—a dizzying rush of delight floods out from Mina’s heart as a warming downpour to her ribcage and stomach—she’d been waiting to hear this, and hoping for it, and wanted it, every day for many, many days—)

It’s the same, it’s exactly the same, but different, because this time she got to hear Mina’s words.

“And I’m so glad we’re finally here.”

-

_I saw you, and I loved you._

THE END. 

-

[EPILOGUE](https://twitter.com/godmitzu/status/1202036105996099585?s=20)

“So you did lie to me.”

“That’s what you’re focusing on? I had to live with this vision for six years before we finally got together—”

“Well, at least you _knew_ we’d end up together eventually—I had to like you for years and not know whether you felt the same, and you _lied_ to me about who I was going to be happy with so I was even more confused—”

“We’re not getting over that, are we—”

“Not that soon, no.”

“Oh, by the way, I thought we were going to be on an actual mountain when this happened so this is kind of a surprise, not going to lie.”

“The others are texting us asking us where we are.”

“Um, before we go… I’m going to, uh, lean forward to kiss your cheek and you should accidentally move your head to the side. We should probably accidentally do it again at the dorm, too, like a lot—wait, why are you laughing—”

**Author's Note:**

> Mimo has been all I've really written, so whenever I mention to other onces that my OTP is Minayeon I get laughed at ._. I've had this idea for two years, and it's always been for Minayeon, but never had time and motivation to write it. Thank you for everyone who's always encouraged me and supported me :'D
> 
> And to G, sper să-ți placă.


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